


Things John Watson and Sherlock Holmes Won't Do in Series Three

by azriona



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Circus, Clowns, Crack, Disney World & Disneyland, Ficathon, Gen, No Spoilers, Parentlock, Season/Series 03, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson said chasing a cab through London was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever done.  </p><p>Oh, <i>John.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go to Disneyland

**Author's Note:**

> I…have no idea. I would like to blame this on earlgreytea68, but I probably shouldn’t, because she only told me to post it because it sort of matches one of the prompts in her [AU ficathon of absurdity](http://earlgreytea68.livejournal.com/420191.html). I actually wrote it ages ago and I'm still not entirely convinced posting it is the right course of action. 
> 
> I’m very anti-spoiler, so I really don’t have a clue what’s going to happen in Series 3; if anything here actually does happen, I’ll be very surprised. There will be additional chapters, as I think of things that John and Sherlock won’t do in Series 3. Feel free to make suggestions.

_It’s a smaaall world, aaaaafter all!_

Sherlock glared at the animatronic dolls. “The costumes are hardly accurate.” 

“They’re not meant to be accurate, Sherlock,” said John patiently. “They’re meant to be representative.” 

“How can they be representative by being inaccurate? Look, the African dolls are clearly from the Surma tribe in Ethiopia, and yet they are wearing _shirts_.” 

“It’s hardly appropriate to have bare bosoms in a child’s ride.” 

“And what is this song talking about? The Earth has a mean radius of 6,371 kilometers, and a surface area of 510,072,000 kilometers, over half of which is water. Hardly small.” 

“Yes, and it also revolves around the sun.” 

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his small revolver. Without even looking, he stretched out his arm and shot one of the dolls’ heads off. 

John’s mouth dropped open. 

“The song is annoying.” 

If John refused to admit that Sherlock had a point, it was only on principle.


	2. Become Circus Clowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to post these quickly or I lose my nerve and start second-guessing myself.

The corny canned circus music was loud and blaring, almost enough to knock John off his feet, which would have been rather too bad, because he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d be able to stand again without assistance. The shoes were somewhat larger than shoes had any right to be, and weight about ten stone apiece. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” said Sherlock. “The shoes hardly weight ten stone.” He paused. “Five, maybe.” 

The shoes were the least of it; the entire costume was utterly mad. Bright yellow with multi-colored polka dots, a waist that was supported by a metal hoop holding it away from John’s body, purple buttons and a bow tie that spun. John privately thought that if anyone was going to wear a bow tie, it really ought to have been Sherlock. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” said Sherlock. “Your bow tie wouldn’t go with my color scheme in the least.” 

But then again, the entire scheme was mad. John wasn’t even sure how Sherlock had managed to infiltrate them into their roles in the first place; circuses kept notoriously close ranks. John had never even harbored a daydream about running away to join one. 

And it wasn’t as if dressing up as _clowns_ was going to automatically gain the confidence of the murder, who might confess over drinks after the show was up. 

John wondered what circus clowns drank, anyway. It was probably polka-dotted. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” said Sherlock. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You _thought_ it.” 

John tossed his hat onto the ground. It bounced back. 

“I hardly see how this is going to prove that Fleur was the murderer,” John hissed at Sherlock as the acts began to change. They were up next. John wasn’t sure if his annoyance was actually annoyance, or butterflies in his stomach. 

Or, God forbid, actual butterflies. There was enough space in there, he could have been harboring an entire garden, for all he knew. 

“It’s the only way we could get close enough to him,” explained Sherlock. “We had to join his act.” 

John snorted, and eyeballed the other clowns. “All right then. Which one is he? The one with the painted frown? Or the one who’s dressed up as a baby? My money’s on the baby.” 

“Neither.” 

“He’s not the fellow in the suit, is he?” 

“No.” 

“Well, there’s only five clowns and the other two are you and me, so I fail to see—“ 

A low rumbling as the tiger cage rolled by, followed by a sinister-looking man with pointed beard and sneaky eyes. 

“Oh, God,” said John, and decided that the butterflies were, in fact, not butterflies but raging rhinoceroses. 

Rhinoceri? John didn’t care, they were large and leathery and had spikes on their noses, and Sherlock had signed him up to play “catch the mouse” with tigers, and John was pretty bloody sure that he was meant to be the mouse. 

“I hate you,” he said. 

“Come on, John,” said Sherlock, eyes sparkling. “The show is on.”


	3. Have a Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With all respect to the babyfics out there (of which I’ve written one and loved half a dozen). They’re lovely, and I’m sure John and Sherlock would be awesome fathers. Just…not immediately.

John and Sherlock looked into the bassinet. The chief occupant of the bassinet looked back at them, with a somewhat perplexed expression. 

“Now what?” asked John. 

“Judging by the expression on its face and the odor it has produced, I believe it needs to have its nappy changed,” said Sherlock. 

“Ah,” said John. 

Neither of them moved. The chief occupant of the bassinet started to gnaw on its fist contentedly. 

“It doesn’t seem to be overly worried about it,” said John. 

“No,” agreed Sherlock. 

“Still,” mused John, “we should probably do something about that.” 

“Yes,” said Sherlock. 

The baby looked from one to the other and kicked its legs. It looked like it considered crying, and then realized that crying might send its caretakers running for the hills. 

“Do we even have spare nappies?” asked John. 

“We have tea-towels.” 

“Sherlock, we can’t use tea-towels.” 

“They’re quite absorbent.” 

“ _Sherlock_.” 

There was a knock at the door. “I’m not interrupting nap, am I?” asked Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock turned to her, with one of his trademark relieved expressions – the one with the brilliant thousand-watt grin. John had always thought that mountains would move for that grin. 

“Mrs. Hudson. Would you be so kind—” 

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and picked up the baby. “Just this once, dear. I’m not your nanny.”


	4. Attend a Monster Truck Rally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame this one on Ashfae, because a year ago, she gave me the prompt “sundae”, and I got…creative, because all I could think of was that guy going “SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAYYYYYYYY.” You know how they do. Well, if you’re American, you know how they do, I don’t know if it translates if you’re not familiar with Monster Truck Rallys or demolition derbies.
> 
> I’m very anti-spoiler, so I really don’t have a clue what’s going to happen in Series 3; if anything here actually does happen, I’ll be very surprised. There will be additional chapters, as I think of things that John and Sherlock won’t do in Series 3. Feel free to make suggestions.

They stared at the trucks. 

“The wheels are too big,” said John. 

Sherlock said nothing. 

“But I suppose they’d have to be, because of the mud.” 

Sherlock said nothing. 

“And why is there mud, anyway?” 

Sherlock said nothing. 

“Are they – they _are_ , Sherlock, look, they’re deliberately driving _over_ the smaller vehicles.” 

Sherlock said nothing. 

“Is there a _point_ to this?” 

Sherlock said nothing. 

“If this is how Americans spend their free time – Sherlock, just say the word when you’re ready to go.” 

And Sherlock said nothing.


	5. Become Kindergarten Teachers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I _was_ thinking about the movie Kindergarten Cop when I wrote this one. So glad you all remember it, too.

John had only left the room for a few minutes. Just long enough to find a toilet that wasn’t the size of a Yorkshire terrier, because some acts were just better done on a properly sized toilet, and John might have been small, but certain aspects had not necessarily been…downsized. 

“You’ll be all right for a few minutes, right?” said John, glancing nervously between the two dozen five-year-olds and Sherlock, who had refused to dress down for their current roles as kindergarten teachers. 

“Of course, John,” said Sherlock, all innocent eyes and confident tones. “I’ll be fine. They’re busy, they’re happy, they’re unlikely to harbor weapons under their jumpers.” 

“I’m sorry, have you _met_ Adam?” said John, staring at the innocent little devil sitting in the front row. The same child they were meant to be protecting from kidnappers. The same child who had blown up their toaster, bitten Sherlock twice, kicked John in the bollocks, and somehow managed to destroy Mycroft’s umbrella and of all impossibilities, Mrs Hudson’s patience. 

John had no doubt that if any five-year-old would have something horrific under their jumper, it would be Adam. 

“We’re fine,” mouthed Sherlock, and waved John away. 

“Right,” said John, and he’d left the room for a few minutes. 

Just a few minutes – long enough to get lost, find a loo, use it, wash his hands, get lost again, and find the classroom. 

Which did not explain the sinking feeling when he opened the door and found Sherlock standing on a twenty-chair pile-up in the center of the classroom, with every table shoved to the walls, and every carpet laid in a neat circle around him. 

“So, children,” said Sherlock, balancing on the top of the chairs, arms outstretched as if he was going to take off in flight, “lacking a vacuum, it is not actually possible to demonstrate how a feather and a brick would fall at the same rate when you can negate the effects of air resistance on the falling objects. However, we _can_ use two objects of dissimilar size and weight, and this should give you an approximate idea that gravity works the same on all objects, regardless of the weight and or size of those objects.” 

Which was when John noticed Adam standing next to Sherlock on the chairs. 

“Sherlock!” 

“And jump!” said Sherlock blithely, and did. 

“EW,” shouted the children in unison. 

“COOL!” shouted Adam, staring at Sherlock’s arm, now bent in a completely impossible direction. 

“John,” said Sherlock, lying face-up on the carpets, and trying to catch his breath from where Adam had fallen on him. He sounded somewhat strangled. “Help.” 

It could have been worse. Something could have exploded. 

There was a muffled _boom_ from the adjacent loo, with the miniscule toilet. 

“Oh,” said Sherlock, “and we might have put something in the toilet while you were gone.” 

Retirement looked better every day, thought John.


End file.
